


Such a Holy Place to Be

by kermiethefrog



Series: come together [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Controlling Dean Winchester, Drug Dealer Castiel, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Guitarist Dean Winchester, Implied Castiel/Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Extremely Underage, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Marijuana Use, Protective Dean Winchester, just a little dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kermiethefrog/pseuds/kermiethefrog
Summary: Castiel has snuck a few looks at Dean's little brother, sure, he can be the bigger man and admit his sins. Everyone knows that you don't mess with Sam Winchester, not with how trigger-quick Dean is to protect him—so Cas is a little at a loss of what to do when he has Dean, loose and pliant and pleasantly high, with his mouth next to his ear asking Cas to tell him all the filthy things he wants to do to Sam. It gets substantially more difficult to decipher the best course of action when Dean's hand slides into his jeans.





	Such a Holy Place to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a larger series that will, eventually, become Wincestiel and a little dark.
> 
> A little bit of background: Dean's a mechanic by day, plays guitar for a local band by night. Cas is his dealer and sometimes fuck buddy. Sam is beautiful and perfect and should never change. They all live in the Bay Area, like Berkeley or Daly City or something, I honestly didn't pin down a specific place because it's not very important for this fic.
> 
> Underage tacked on here because Sam's 16 during the course of the fic, extremely underage because Sam was under 13 the first time he and Dean do anything sexual which is vaguely referenced. Dean's 20, Cas is 22. Loosely set in the late 90s/early 2000s but I am nothing if not 1. completely inconsistent and 2. bad at research so anachronisms may be rampant.
> 
> Title comes from David Bowie's "Moonage Daydream".
> 
> edit: There's now a playlist to go with this! You can find the post on [tumblr](https://kermiethefwog.tumblr.com/post/174295788874/as-long-as-there-are-stars-a-castiel).

“Saw you eyein’ up my little brother, Cas.”

Dean’s voice is a thick sludge, more mush than anything—it always gets slow and lazy-tongued when he’s burned through half a blunt. Cas rolls them tight and precise; Dean grins in that self-satisfied sort of way when Castiel hands it over. Cas has seen a lot of sights, but none of them really reach the way Dean looks when he’s spread out on Cas’s floor, pupils blown so wide that he can only see the green of them up close.

Dean’s voice normally sends liquid heat settling down to the pit of his stomach. Today, the words shock a flash of ice water into it. His shoulders tense, back wooden-board straight. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas says. Too indignant, too insistent. Too everything. He feels it creep through each nerve in his spine, lighting up through his vertebrae. Shifting, his legs drag against the rug as he draws a knee up out of its criss-crossed position for him to rest his chin onto.

He should have expected the hand that comes over the back of his neck. It’s familiar, the weight of it, the smothering warmth that makes him feel like melting straight into his carpet. Dean tugs him close and Cas hitches in a breath at the lips that find his throat.

“You don’t gotta be embarrassed, man,” Dean mumbles into his skin. It leaves goosebumps down his back. “You can tell me. I won’t get mad.”

Cas swallows through his tightening throat. He’s not really sure what lines are okay to cross—they made the transition from dealer-client to friends with benefits a few months back, but he knows Dean is protective of his younger brother. He’s only ever seen him a handful of times, talked to him even less; Cas knows his name is Sam and that he likes discussing logical fallacies and he has an interest in true crime. Cas knows that when he smiles, his cheeks dimple. Cas knows that when he stretches, his shirt rides up and exposes thin hips and a stretch of skin that make his fingers itch.

He flushes. Dean is deliberate in the way he protects his younger brother—from everything Cas has learned about the man over the past year, the one lesson beaten into the back of his eyelids is that nobody messes with Sam. He’s seen enough guys walk away bloody to be certain of it.

“He’s—nice,” Cas tries, and Dean snorts out a derisive laugh against the hollow of his throat.

“That’s your takeaway? Sam’s _nice_?” It’s mocking, even if there’s not much heat behind it. Dean condescends often, because he can, because Castiel (because most people, really, Cas isn’t trying to kid himself on Dean’s popularity) will let him get away with it. At the very least, on the occasions when Cas isn’t up to dealing with Dean’s particular brand of _teasing_ , Dean usually backs off—if it was any other way, Cas probably wouldn’t be harboring the feelings as intensely as he does.

As it is, well. His heart wouldn’t be jumping into his throat every time Dean’s lips touched his skin if he wasn’t so fucking whipped.

“Yes—yeah,” Cas answers. Dean pulls him closer and Cas goes, his hand shooting out to press palm downwards on the carpet to prevent himself from falling over into Dean’s chest. “He’s a good kid.”

“You think he’s pretty.” It’s an accusation. Dean’s lips trail over his jaw. “It’s the dimples, right?”

“Uh,” Cas responds eloquently. Panic trickles into his stomach; he’s not sure what the right answer is, here. He doesn’t want Dean to stop touching him, but there’s something insistent and heated in Dean’s eyes that makes the confusing muddle of feelings in his stomach grow taut and painful. He’s thankful for the hand that grips his hair tight, tugging his head back and giving him something else to think about. “Dean—“

“I think he’s pretty, too,” Dean confesses, and it drags something wrecked from the back of Cas’s throat. This isn’t happening. Things like this don’t happen to Castiel Novak, normal fucking guy. Dean grins, and the sight of it sends heat straight to Cas’s dick. “Saw the way you looked at him when he stretched all out. Looks good like that, right?”

“Yeah,” Cas finally admits, shivering at the hand that crawls underneath his shirt. He’s rewarded for his honesty with Dean’s open-mouthed kiss, tongue pressing against his own. “You—you, your brother—“ Cas starts, cut off by Dean’s thumb running over a nipple.

“What d’you wanna know, huh, Cas?” Dean whispers right next to his ear. If Cas breathes hard enough, he wouldn’t be able to hear it, so he holds his breath. “You wanna know if I do any dirty shit with my baby brother?”

This isn’t happening. He’s so hard it hurts, and he can feel Dean’s dick line against his hip. It’s been about a month since the last time Dean fucked him—longer since Dean let Cas fuck him. He wants either, both; he tries to kiss into Dean’s mouth, and Dean laughs, grinning as he pulls away. Cas remembers the question he was asked and nods. “Tell me, Dean,” he rushes out. He’s pretty damn sure that Dean can feel the way his heart is racing where he has his palm spread flat on his chest. “Please.”

“Sam always wants to kiss.” Spoken low right into the shell of his ear. Cas shivers, and Dean scrapes his teeth along the ridge. “He’s so goddamn sweet about it, gets all whiny and bratty if I don’t. I know he looks so _nice_ ,” it’s a biting tease, but Cas is more focused on the way Dean’s fingers pinch his nipple for emphasis, “but my Sammy, he’s a real slut. Loves being kissed.”

“Dean,” Cas rumbles out; his voice is always deep, but it finds a special place in the gravel of his throat when Dean’s touching him. He wonders if Sam kisses like Dean does, possessive and slow and lazy like he can be afforded all the time in the world. 

“Sam’s better at sucking dick than any girl I’ve ever met,” Dean says, palm moving downwards and pressing against the front of Cas’s jeans. Cas pushes up into it, mouth falling open as he pants. He bites down on his chapped lower lip, because he has to hear what Dean has to say—he needs to. “I got him hooked on it. He’s a real cocksucking pro.”

Cas wants to know—he flutters his eyes shut when Dean unbuttons his jeans, hitching a breath when he hears the zipper—he wants to know the first time Sam sucked Dean’s dick. He wants to know how it was.

“Keep those baby blues open for me, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas’s eyes open immediately, his head tilting to the side to watch Dean’s focused, attentive expression. 

“When?” Cas asks, bolstered by the slick-wet sheen of Dean’s lips. Dean leans forward and gives them to him, offers up slow and open kisses. “When did you—“ he starts.

“You don’t wanna know, Cas,” Dean murmurs into his mouth; there’s something dark in it, and Cas can see a flicker of insecurity in Dean’s eyes before Dean pushes his face into Cas’s throat again. “Don’t want you to disappoint your daddy too much.”

There’s something tense between them now; a secret that Cas is certain Dean hadn’t meant to let slip. He swallows thickly. Dean’s faded half-hard against him, and Cas knows he might have stumbled on Dean’s close-kept shame—he reaches out and presses his fingers over Dean’s wrist, guiding his hand underneath the waistband of his underwear.

Feeling Dean’s fingers wrapping around his cock brings them out of the spell, his low, strangled groan enticing Dean’s lips back onto his skin. Cas pushes his underwear down, just enough so he can get his cock out, and Dean starts a slow stroke, teasing this thumb over the slit.

“Tell me more, Dean,” Cas says quietly, and Dean grips his chin, tilting his head so they can kiss again. 

“My baby brother can come just from having his tits played with,” Dean offers, and Cas moans against Dean’s lips. Of course he can; something so sweet has to be sensitive. Dean drops his hand to Cas’s chest, tweaking his nipple through his shirt, and Cas arches into it. “So fucking hot, feeling him squirm underneath you. So fucking good.”

“Yeah,” Cas breathes out, “fuck, Dean.” He reaches a hand up under his shirt and runs his thumb over his neglected nipple, and Dean moans, quiet and just for him.

“You wanna fuck him, Cas? He rides like a fuckin’ dream,” Dean drawls out. Cas licks his lips slowly and cants his hips up, just to be rewarded with the twist of Dean’s wrist. The moan that it pulls out of him is low and guttural; he wonders if Sam sounds the same as Dean does, or if he lets out soft, high-pitched whines like how Cas dreams he does. “Or do you wanna get fucked by him? I know he looks small, but baby’s got a big dick.”

Dean starts stroking him again, a tight and fast pace that leaves his thighs twitching. “Fuck, want—want to fuck—” Cas tries, and Dean’s free hand comes down on his hip, fingers digging in to keep his ass pressed to the ground. Dean hushes up against his ear, teeth scraping against the side of his throat.

“Tell me, Cas, tell me what you wanna do to my baby brother,” Dean instructs, and Cas chokes on the moan that drags out of his throat.

“I want—,” he forces out, cut off by another low-keened moan, and Dean lets out a laugh against his skin that vibrates into his pulse, “I want to know how tight he is.”

“Gonna fuck my tiny underage brother, huh, Cas?” Dean accuses, and it sounds so much filthier when it’s spoken aloud. A dark, shameful part of Cas’s soul aches, skitters away from the ugly truth— _forgive me Father for I have sinned_ —

“Dean, I’m—I’m going—“ He can feel it right at the front of his hips, building up a searing lava heat, and his fingers grip Dean’s forearms tight. Dean removes his hand and Cas nearly cries, head dropping back onto Dean’s shoulder as he uselessly fucks the air. When he moves to finish himself off, Dean’s hands whip out and latch onto his wrists, pinning them back down.

“Tell me, Castiel. Tell me you wanna fuck my teenage little brother. Tell me you wanna stick your cock in his jailbait ass,” Dean urges.

Cas feels like he’s drowning. He shuts his eyes tight and feels guilt flooding his lungs. “I want to fuck your teenage brother,” he chokes out, and once the truth is released out into the world, it feels easier to continue. “I want to fuck his jailbait ass, I want him to take it, I want to fill him up, want to see him come while being fucked, want to see you fuck him, want to see if we can make him take us both at the same time—“

Dean moans, a low and guttural noise torn out like he hadn’t meant to, and his hand grips Cas’s cock, jerking him painfully rough and fast. “Shit, Cas, you’re so fucking hot,” he growls, sucking a bruise into the side of his throat, “c’mon, Cas, come for me, baby.”

Cas does, the orgasm ripped out of him, and his ass lifts off the ground with the force of it, his hand reaching back and gripping Dean’s neck as he comes. Dean strokes him until he’s sensitive, and his chest heaves as he tries to shy away from Dean’s hand—he moans brokenly, the sound crackling in his throat when Dean’s arm locks around his chest to keep him in place. It’s on the verge of too-much, a fresh and raw pain, when Dean finally lets up, and Cas collapses, back curved where he’s pressed against Dean.

“You want, I can talk to him,” Dean says. Cas feels like liquid against Dean’s chest. “He has a crush on you, too.”

Cas lets Dean guide him into sitting up on his own, blinks slow and stupid at his friend. It’s like he suddenly remembers that he should be worried—he’s been through enough that he can hold his own in a fight, but he also knows he’s unwilling to hit Dean back if shit got bad. He’s careful again, cautious to choose the words that won’t garner Dean’s protective streak.

“Aren’t you—he’s your brother,” Cas starts. Dean raises his eyebrows. “Are you okay with someone else being with your brother?”

Dean stares at him for a moment, and for that moment, Cas thinks he fucked up. But Dean just grins, slow and lazy, and the nervous flutter of Cas’s guts comes back again full force. He holds his breath when Dean leans in, heart tightening when Dean presses a close-mouthed kiss to his lower lip. “I trust you, Cas,” Dean responds smoothly. Cas swallows thickly at the dark look in Dean’s eyes; if Dean hadn’t just gotten him off, Cas would’ve flinched away at the hand that comes up to pat his cheek. “You’re not gonna give me a reason not to trust you, right?”

Cas shakes his head, and Dean grins wider.

Cas offers to give Dean a hand with his erection, but Dean just adjusts himself and fixes his shirt. There’s always a difference between the Dean that comes to his apartment to smoke, and the one that exists outside of it—he grows alert and aware, like he only ever lets his guard down around certain people. The thought makes Castiel feel like drowning.

He doesn’t have to walk Dean down to the street, but does every time without fail. Cas knows what Dean’s bandmates think of him—always coming at his beck and call. It’s not untrue, but Cas still can’t help that it hurts, his body clinging to his pride. Still, as long as Dean asks it of him, Cas will commit. It’s like some kind of cosmic magnetism—and that sums up the way people feel about Dean Winchester in general.

“Hey, Earth to Clarence,” Dean calls, and Cas drags his eyes away from where they were staring at his hands up to Dean’s face. “I’ll text you, alright? About the thing?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Castiel asks instead of whatever answer he had prepared— _sounds good, alright, see you later, Dean_ —and Dean stares at him, eyebrows raised. Cas flushes. “I mean, like—is this still a work thing? Are we friends?”

Dean stares back, and his expression is indecipherable. Castiel wonders if Sam can decipher it. There’s a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, and Cas wishes he hadn’t said anything, but then Dean pulls him forward by the front of his shirt and kisses him. In public, on the crowded street, like it—like it means something.

Dean’s still indecipherable when he pulls away. He pats the side of Cas’s neck, and Cas can’t help but stare back disbelievingly. 

“I like you, Cas. Thought even someone as thick-headed as you could get that.”

He feels his face heat up and he nods jerkily; it makes Dean huff out laughter, and Cas isn’t quite sure how kind it is. “I—I like you, too, Dean—“ he starts, and receives Dean’s palm over his face. He’s gently shoved away, and Cas rubs his lips with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, yeah. No chick flick shit, alright? I’ll text you later, dude,” Dean says gruffly, then turns and heads down the street to the public lot where he parks his car.

Castiel can’t help but smile at his retreating back.

It takes a week. It’s like that, sometimes; sometimes Dean gets so busy with work or taking care of Sam or the band that they don’t see each other for weeks at a time. The separation is difficult, but Castiel is also a goddamn adult—if Dean needs him, then he’ll know. 

It takes a week. Cas is in a record shop, pulling out a Beach Boys record, when he gets the text.

_Saturday. 7. Sam can’t wait to see you._

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a head's up—additions to this verse will be sporadic, as I'm currently working on my Wincest Big Bang entry.


End file.
